Ding, Dong, Ditch

Quick glances on sleepy morning elevator rides were not enough. She was beautiful – but he didn’t know her name. 24-C, that’s what he called her. He knew because he was 27-C, the awkward artist who had no idea how to approach his beautiful neighbor.

A trip to the coffee shop brought inspiration as he watched kids playing. He raced back to his apartment and found paint the color of deep red roses. In the hallway, he stood across from her door, awkwardly trying to get the right angle. On the wall, now his canvas, he painted a dozen, tiny red roses – almost too small for the naked eye to see. His super would have to forgive him.

Eric checked his watch and waited until 24-C came back home. He watched through the peephole – his small spy circle – and waited.  “I’m creeping myself out. I feel like a stalker.” Eric said to his goldfish – Pepperidge.  Pepperidge blew bubbles in agreement.

24-C was home fifteen minutes later. He gave her, what he thought was time enough to get settled and rang her bell, returning quickly to the anonymity of his apartment. She looked out her peephole and saw a dozen roses she hadn’t noticed before. Opening the door cautiously, she walked to the wall, tracing her fingers over the nearly imperceptible roses.

 Each night for a week it followed, a carefully painted message, a delighted recipient – the word hello, a coffee cup, a man and a woman, a time, a date, and finally, 27-c? Moira rang his bell and ran back to her apartment as fast as she could. Eric looked through his peephole. The word yes, scrawled in perfectly small cursive on the wall across from his door made him smile.